Warsaw

20-12-1919.

Kavalleriefreikorps Krammer marched on Warsaw. Assurance was needed, assurance that the Socialists were not, in fact, better armed, trained or organised than the government troops. The occasional sound of a metal hatch slamming against an equally-made plate rippled through the air every now and then. Krammer looked at Strecker, who looked back at Krammer. Berlin -> Warsaw -> Stettin; back to Berlin. That was their route, those were their orders. Few armored cars, few trucks, few horses, many over-qualified riders or crewmen doomed to infantry.

21-12-1919.

Warsaw was entered; for the first time at that. Orders from Berlin came swift; ,,Wait in the district of Bielany for reinforcements consisting of the 15th and 17th Cavalry regiments,,

As was commanded, as was done. Many came out from where they were, either on a horse, in a truck, or in an armored vehicle. A few even dug in partly, expecting a long wait. Yet, the wait would not be long, as after just forty-three minutes, the first scout returned with news.

“I was shooed out by locals. They told me that socialists were on the rooftops, in basements and that they were hiding artillery inside stores.”

Krammer nodded in response to the message, rubbing his eyes before making his decision. Isabella—a company consisting of armored cars—was to explore the city. Elsbeth—a company consisting of mounted infantry—was to join Isabella along with the 15th and 17th.

As was commanded, as was done. Many arose, climbing inside their vehicles. The roar of engines slowly filled the camp in great numbers.

Strecker climbed onto his horse, quickly adjusting his visor cap and saluting Krammer before loudly whistling. He went at a slow pace to make sure that the armored cars could catch up as he guided them to the city centre.

The outskirts of the centre were reached. Strecker saluted the officer of the leading armored car and galloped back to the camp.

The roaring of twelve armored cars echoed through the street. Mothers quickly took their kids inside as the fathers ran outside, rifle in hand. After just a few minutes, there were hundreds—perhaps thousands. Few held red flags. Slowly, surely, they approached the armored cars. A gunner got scared by the sudden movement and fired his machinegun. As a chain reaction, all the other gunners in the column followed his accidental example. 

To some a massacre, to some a cleansing.

A group of three brave socialists ran up to the first armored car and climbed atop it.

“GODDAMMIT MÜLLER, KEEP THAT HATCH CLOSED!”

“I’M TRYING, HERR KOMMANDANT!”

Yet, to no avail. Müller could not keep the hatch closed. It was pulled open with rigorous force, and a molotov cocktail was chucked inside. As per the commander’s orders, the hatch was closed again, but this time by the socialists.

The same fate struck two other armored cars while the column slowly retreated, meeting up with Elsbeth, 15th and 17th just outside the camp. No other offensive occurred that day.